Fragments of Forever
by Nagia
Summary: Their lives lead on for eternity, each one a homage to the tiny gears that keep on grinding. A collection of moments and misadventures, laughs and WTF! expressions.
1. XII: Practice

**XII: Practice**

There was really nothing like this, she knew. It was exhilarating and frightening and uplifting all at the same time. She felt invincible, she felt powerful, she felt _fucking perfect_.

Her blood rushed to her head, and as she continued, she realized why Robin drove that motorcycle so fast, why Starfire loved to fly, why Beast Boy needed those escapist video games.

Her heart pumped blood faster, lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub instead of lub-dub-(pause)-lub-dub.

She nearly moaned in delight, but managed to keep it trapped in. Even now, emotion was a frightening prospect. She could destroy the world by laughing.

But still she continued. Even as joy threatened to overwhelm her, even as her arms grew tired, even with the fact that she knew Robin would never approve.

Well, she was Raven. The entire _world_ disapproved of her. Crazy people formed suicide cults and worshipped her; equally crazy people had held signs and chanted and marched outside of the Justice League head quarters, demanding that the JLA remove her from the Teen Titans. Her face was a favorite for Hot Topic t-shirts. And, when you added the classic "NO" sign, like the one you saw on "NO SMOKING" signs, it was a best-seller at Baptist bake sales.

There was a Church of Raven. There were thousands of Churches that hated Raven. When you got right down to it, if she were to walk around in public, she'd probably have random people throwing things at her or something. If you looked at her situation in that light, Robin's opinion shouldn't have mattered. After all, Robin wasn't the type to kill himself at her feet or pick up a pitchfork and a torch and try to burn her.

She paused. An empty clicking sound came from her current source of amusement. Sighing and opening a small box, she refilled the beloved amusement source.

Back to the loud noise, the intense concentration, the way the world seemed to fall away, except for one tiny spot.

The thoughts of Robin's potential disapproval melted away as she continued to squeeze.

It felt warm in her hands, but that was only because she'd been holding it. She had four more boxes left, and even though a box was only ten dollars (_I wonder if it's this much other places? Or maybe it's more... Then again, this _is _California_, she thought), she wasn't going to buy more.

She'd started with six. That was sixty dollars. If Robin knew she was spending her money on this, on something she'd likely never use, he would be furious. It would be a waste of money, to him. And even worse, it would be a waste of money on something he hated.

Well, it was _her_ money. And she definitely had plenty of it. Her work as a literary critic (anonymous, of course) gave her five hundred dollars per review. She did at least two reviews per month. That was a thousand dollars a month. And, considering how little else she spent her money on, she could definitely afford this.

More hollow clicking sounds. She refilled again, now halfway done with the box.

She didn't care. She had four boxes left. The world narrowed again.


	2. XI: SeventyEight

**XI: Seventy-Eight**

This is the closest he has ever coming to kissing her, and he does not want to hold back. His training, his upbringing, his conception of a leader, all restrain him. They hide his memory away, they hide away his knowledge.

He knows how to kiss a girl. He knows how to do _more_ than merely kiss a girl. So why can't he seem to remember how to make it begin? Why can't he just close his eyes and go for it?

His hand slides to cover hers. Black gloves over pale skin. Like death, like a bruise, like the _yin_ and the _yang_. He isn't sure, though, which of them is which.

And she is leaning towards him. He knows that his touch jails her, locks her away, makes her live. She is leaning towards him, her head tilting up.

He leans down. His lips press up against hers. His hand leaves her hand, straying instead to wander through that smooth, silky stream of purple hair. This kiss holds them prisoner. It beats them up, tosses them into the Isolation Cell, slams the door closed and throws away the key.

This kiss is like lightning. It's strange and it's new and it's so goddamn perfect. He doesn't want it to stop. But it has to stop. An average human can only go three minutes without air.

The kiss lasts thirty-two seconds.

When they part, she pulls the glove off his hand. She looks at his hand, at his palm. She traces the lines on his palm, pokes the calluses. Feels for the rough spots that remind the world that he once flew on a trapeze.

And then she looks up at him, that gentle smile curving along her lips. It is a beautiful smile. It is not a beautiful smile. It is a fragile smile, a cold smile, and yet somehow warm. Like somebody carved it out of ice and then put it in the winter sunlight, where it glitters and sparkles and melts.

He wants to kiss that smile. So he puts one finger on her lips, just one. The ungloved finger. And she looks up a little farther, and then they are leaning towards each other again.

The second kiss lasts for forty-six seconds. Time flies by through it. It is fleeting. It is something he saw out of the corner of his eye, there and oh so sweet, but gone when he looks for it.

And then she is sitting in his lap, her hands clenching at his back, nails somehow managing to dig through the multi-layered Robin suit. Their lips are crushing each other. This prison is more than the Isolation Cell. It's like some sort of Sensory Deprivation Room. They are everything and they are nothing. They are one plus one. They are yin and yang, they are yang and yin. One plus one is _nothing at all_.

This is everything he wanted to find. This is perfection. This is thirty-two plus forty-six equals one plus one, thirty-two plus forty-six equals one plus one, thirty-two plus forty-six equals one plus one.

And all that means is that they are everything.

But all _that_ means is that they are nothing at all.

Isn't it grand?


	3. X: Greener Grass

**X: Greener Grass**

She is a shadow that passes through the world. Nobody notices her. This shouldn't be possible; she doesn't dress like the real humans. But still, they pass by her. Their eyes slide away from her as soon as they catch a glimpse.

The tiny purse swings at her side. It hits up against her hips with every step that she takes. She had considered locking it, but the pickpockets don't even know she is there.

Her footsteps make sound as her feet hit the linoleum floor of the subway station, but they do not echo. She knows through observation that this is unnatural. She remembers a woman in high heels brushing past her, elbowing her subconsciously. The woman's high heeled footsteps echoed: _click—click—click... CLICK CLICK CLICK_.

She doesn't bother to stop in one of the miniature concession stands. The hawkers won't notice her, no matter how many times she tries to get their attention. In her fantasies, Starfire would speak up for her, gaining the hawker's attention. Starfire would even resort to thumping her fist against their counter.

In reality, Starfire is probably searching Jump City for her.

This is the way she has wanted her life. All her life on earth, she has wanted to escape notice. She has wanted people to ignore her. She merely wanted to live and to let live.

Now she has what she wanted. This life, this hollow lie, is exactly how she always wanted. So why doesn't she like it?

Her hand fumbles inside the purse for a few bills as she comes to a stop in front of a family of vending machines. Though she withdraws only two dollars, she cannot help but notice that what once looked like a thick forest of green now looks like a dying garden.

She's running low on money. Soon enough, she won't be able to buy anything from the vending machines, much less a subway ticket.

On the other hand, it's not like she's got anywhere to buy a subway ticket _to_. She can't get a job. She doesn't want to steal. She's got nothing, really, except the tiny amount of cash that she'd stocked this purse with.

Robin should never have let her go undercover in New York City. Sure, he thought Titans East could take care of her.

But there's a reason Titans East is Titans _East_. They're on the side of the country with two of the biggest superheroes ever. They've got loads of backup, if they need it. And they will obviously need it at some point.

She selects the healthiest thing she can find from the vending machine with food. It isn't very healthy. She looks at the ingredients list in disgust.

_Do they have any idea how many_ chemicals _this is? It's completely synthetic!_

She buys a bottle of water from the drink machine. So far, machines haven't begun to ignore her. She has no doubt that even _they_ will soon. First it was sight-poor animals. Then it was people. Next, it will be machines.

There's a train ticket to Gotham that she can barely afford. If there's any place she wants to starve, it will be there, she decides when she buys it.


	4. IX: NotDick

**IX: Not-Dick**

"I'm not threatening you, I'm making a promise," I say.

Yeah, yeah, it's cliched. But the thing is, you don't take your threats as seriously as your take your vows. When I make a promise, I tend to keep it--- especially when it involves bodily harm.

Just another thing I learned from the Bat. I learned so much from him, it's actually kind of scary. I mean, what kind of sane man trains a nine year old to fight? And then takes him out into combat situations? In freaking _Gotham_!

Yeah, I guess my past _is_ kind of scary.

Would you believe me if I told you that I love him?

But you're not thinking about my relationship with the Bat. You're thinking about what I just said, and what it means. Looking in your eyes, I see the wheels turn in your mind. Great, rusty, rumbling wheels.

"I look forward to it," you say.

Such pretty violet eyes you have. Sometimes I wish that I could just tear them from your head and keep them. It'd spare the world some trouble, wouldn't?

Oh, don't mind that side of me. That's not-Dick. Not-Dick sometimes likes to say things like that. He's a little crazy, if you ask me.

"Is that some sort of challenge?"

If it's a challenge to fight, you're going to lose. You know that, don't you? You'd better. I trained you. Don't forget that the people on Azarath are total pacifists.

I trained you. _Me._ Any attempt at fighting me... I know you like the back of my hand. I'd be able to block any move you made before you could make it.

And don't bother trying to say that you could do the same. You're not as competent as I am when it comes to hand to hand. I hate to say it, but it's God's honest truth.

"It's not a challenge, it's the truth."

You're mocking me.

I don't say anything. I don't have to. There's really not all that much to say, is there?

We know each other so well. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't need to take off my mask for you to see my face. You probably know all the angles, the way my skin feel. What my eye color is.

It's blue, by the way. Glacier blue. You _did_ hear that, didn't you? Did your psychic powers or empathy or whatever get that?

"What's the matter, Robin? Bat got your tongue?"

Aw, damn. You mocked me. Again.

"What's the matter, Raven, Beast Boy controlling your tongue? Or maybe Trigon?"

Zing. Ooooh, that hurt, didn't it? You totally deserved that. You know you did. Mocking me. Mocking _me_. I trained you.

"I guess the stress of Batman's mind control training's getting to you. Making you cranky. It's hard work, being a myrmidon, isn't it?"

Oookay, straight back at me. But whatever. I guess the third mockery really is the charm. Well, you know what? That's fine. It's totally fine. I'm cool.

'Cos you know what? You can feel free to mock me.

After all, who's going to be smashing your face in to save the world?


	5. VIII: Vanity

**VIII: Vanity**

"If I had your cooperation and you could turn your attention to me, please," the man in the suit said as though people actually cared about what he said, "we could begin."

He said it as though people wanted to begin. They didn't, not really. They didn't care about the vigilantes of the past. They just wanted to hear about seven vigilantes: Superman, Batman, and the Teen Titans.

Tourists could get talk off the street about the Teen Titans. They had only to look to the harbor to see Titan Tower rising up above them.

But the Titans spoke only rarely of themselves, and didn't appear in public very often. Civilian access to Titan Island didn't exist. Everyday civilian access to the Teen Titans themselves didn't exist, either.

On the fringes of the tourist group stood four people: a young woman with long red hair who held a small black kitten, a different young woman with short purple hair, and two young men, one of whom had black hair, one of whom had no hair.

Looking at them, nobody would have noticed that the bald young man was running a hologram. Nobody would have guessed that Beast Boy was sitting in Starfire's arms, disguised as a kitten. Nobody would have guessed that the black haired man in the Gotham Knights baseball cap was really Robin without his mask, wearing green contacts.

Nobody would have imagined that Cyborg could disguise his appearance so perfectly.

The group followed the tour guide, who droned on and on about the first vigilantes, and the growth of the justice system, and how the two had clashed.

Eventually, the tour reached the Batman exhibit. In one case hung the few blurry pictures of Gotham City's Batman— the only pictures of Batman that existed. Though most news agencies insisted that Batman was nothing more than urban legend, the Museum of Vigilantism went by the Daily Planet's account, saying that Batman existed.

"Though there is little evidence that Batman exists, what little evidence we have is quite heavy. Batman appears to be a recluse— he does not give press conferences, does not appear except at night, and is an expert at avoiding photos."

Another case contained a Bat-a-Rang, a copy of the only extant affidavit with testimony pertaining to Batman, and a conjecture of what Batman really looked like. On a wall hung a poster displaying the FBI's mental profile of Batman, and on another wall hung a poster of theories about Batman's true identity.

"There are as many theories about Batman's true identity as there are citizens in Gotham. Most agree that Batman dislikes the law enforcement and is probably not involved in government. In fact, many feel that Batman expends a great deal of effort in his civilian life to ensure that he goes unnoticed."

But the five-person group at the fringes of the tour didn't start really paying attention until the tour reached the museum's largest and most popular exhibit: the Teen Titans exhibit.

The museum contained five large cases, each with a few photographs of one of the team's members, as well as whatever artifacts people had uncovered, mental profiles, snippets of their backgrounds.

"The Teen Titans consists of five members: Robin, Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Raven. Rumors of a sixth Titan, name unknown, exist, but they have dubious accuracy, to say the least."

The dark haired boy smirked as he read the museum's tiny biography about Robin. He could hear the purple haired girl's grumbling at the mention of the Church of Raven. And the bald man seemed to swell with pride when he read aloud, "Cyborg has been the number one role model for children and teens with robotic prosthetics."

"The Titans have offered little information about themselves as individuals. Most of them remain silent unless directly addressed. It appears that the Titans elected Robin as the team's spokesperson and possibly leader."

In the center of the room, the tour guide droned on. "The Teen Titans are the friendliest of the known superheroes. They frequently visit Mr. Pizza's Pizzeria. On their rare non-crime-related public appearances, most of the Titans seem happy to speak with the general public."


	6. VII: Something About Her

**VII: Something About Her**

I had no trouble finding her. We know each other well, she and I. Almost better than we know anybody else.

She sat on the roof, her legs crossed. Except she wasn't sitting on the roof.

She floated upside-down _above_ the roof. As a result, her hair and cloak hung down.

Somehow, I managed to keep from laughing at the picture she presented. There's just something about Raven when she looks disheveled.

I didn't have to say a word. She cracked one eye open and Looked at me, almost as if to say, _What?_

She's grumpy, too. Have I ever mentioned that? I'm sure I have, but don't tell her. She insists that she isn't grumpy.

I didn't say anything. I just stood there, looking back. I know her well, you see. I knew that eventually she would lose patience with my just standing there and make me get to the point.

"Do you need me for something?" As usual, when she spoke in the midst of meditation, her voice sounded gravelly.

"No, not really. Just wanted to talk. But I realized you were meditating. If you want me to leave, I can."

I didn't have to say: _And will._

We have an understanding.

"No, you don't have to leave. It's fine."

She righted herself, lowered to the ground. I sat next to her.

"What sent you in to the meditation spree?" I asked.

She lifted an eyebrow. Her expression said: _You know me better than that_, but all her mouth told me was, "Aside from the fact that I need it?"

"Good point. But really, is something bothering you?"

"I'm going to end the world, Robin. Use that Bat-trained brain. Sometimes I think you're the smartest person in this Tower, and sometimes I think you're dumber than a sack of rocks."

At this blithe confession, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

I only laughed. "I think you're right on both counts. But the real reason you love me is because I'm dead sexy."

"And only marginally taller than me," she quipped.

"Hey! Don't make fun of my height! It's good that I'm short! Being short helps out with gymnastics and acrobatics! The best gymnasts are short, you know!"

She looked at me. That was all it took, really, was that one look. I burst into laughter, and she did her equivalent: smiled widely.

There are times I wish that she could laugh. I imagine all the time how her real laugh would sound. When I'm with her, and she's suppressing her emotions, I just wish I could wrap my arms around her and make everything better.

There's something about Raven at any time. She doesn't have it just when she looks disheveled. She doesn't have it just when she looks as happy as she ever does. She doesn't have it just when she smiles.

She has it all the time.

Her frailty makes you want to make everything better for her, her strength of will makes you admire her, her sheer power makes you need to run away when she's angry.


	7. VI: SnipSnip

**VI: Snip-snip.**

What Slade had done to her defied physics, defied common sense. She knew herself. She knew it was purple— it had been purple since her birth— and she knew its style. She had cut it into that style herself.

So she wondered, as it drifted to the floor and the sink, how Slade's crazy vision thing had managed to make it the exact opposite of how she had styled it?

Short in the back, long in the front. Wedge-shaped, really.

Never mind the question of how Slade had made it grow with his crazy vision thing. How did he make it grow short in the front, long in the back?

And how, exactly, had it tangled? It usually didn't tangle unless she became extremely active. So how did the process of growth tangle it?

She swore as she raked the brush through it yet again. All she'd managed to do was cut the hair in the back to its original length, after many doubts of whether that _was_ her original length. She hadn't even started on her right side yet, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do so.

This was going to get hairy.

She pulled some of her hair forward, compared it against the length of her chin. Instead of working on the very front part first, she started at the middle. Once that met her exacting standards (at least on the right side; the left side was a mat of tangles, so she didn't want to start that until she had to), she started on the front. It took her a little while, because she wasn't entirely sure how much longer her hair had gotten. Eventually, though, she had gotten her right side to look normal.

Now, to start on the left. After she had managed to get the tangles out of her hair (this had required six cans of detangling spray and an entire jar of leave-in conditioner), she began cutting.

The scissors went snip-snip. Her hair fell to the sink and the floor. She had probably cut off six inches of hair, if not more. But when she looked into the mirror to see her usual self, she felt much better.

It was amazing, how much better you could feel after a hot bath. The water had made those markings go away.

She stared at her palms. The symbols Slade had somehow cut into them failed to appear.

Her world hadn't gone back to normal. But she could make it normal. And the first thing in her world that had go back to normal...

Happened to be staring at her from the other side of the mirror. And it looked normal enough, as normal as it ever looked.

The door hissed closed behind her, like a child closing a book on his least favorite chapter.


	8. V: Chasing Perfection

**V: Chasing Perfection**

Robin watched her make her way to the roof of the Tower, her hair flashing bright against the darkness around her. He followed, watched her push herself off from the edge of the roof, her long hair swirling about her.

Sometimes, when she flew, she became a streak of purple across the sky. She became a comet that had lost a fight with a rainbow. Red. Green. Orange. Purple.

Sometimes, when she flew, he wished she would come back to earth so he could be the one who made her happy. Sometimes, he wished she would fly away and never come back, so he could be the happy one.

This time, Starfire flew far, far away, until she had escaped his vision. He no longer worried the way he had when she had first joined the Titans. She could handle herself. He knew she could. He had taught her almost everything she knew about Earth.

No matter how much he sometimes wished she would keep on flying, she would always come back.

Love was like a cage, really. No matter how much you enjoy loving someone else, sometimes, you just need a wider space. You need to be away from love, from the one you love, from the responsibility of having somebody who cares that deeply for you.

She needed her freedom. She needed to fly. She needed it the way he needed the speed and danger of the R-Cycle. The way he needed his team to be complete. The way he needed to fight.

He loved his cage. He really did. But part of what allowed him to love being in love was the freedom he had when he didn't have to confine himself to love.

He slept restlessly, these days. Contentment in anything seemed to elude him, the way Slade seemed to elude capture. The way Raven eluded understanding.

All of the Titans lacked something. Starfire lacked worldliness. Beast Boy lacked maturity. Raven lacked security. Cyborg lacked control.

And he? He lacked contentment. He tossed and he turned. He did this and he did that. He obsessed and he relaxed. But he could never find the perfect sleeping position, the perfect routine, the perfect balance between work and play.

He would never find perfect.

On very rare occasions, he wished that he had never left Gotham. Now that he had entered Jump City, now that he had worked with a team, lived with a team, laughed and cried and loved a team... He couldn't go back to Gotham the person he had been when he'd come. And Gotham needed the person he'd been when he had gone to Jump City.

Sometimes, he wished that he had no more wishes to wish.


	9. IV: Save Me and Hide Me

**IV: Save Me and Hide Me**

Cyborg knew her well, well enough to know that she only retreated to the garage when every other place in the Tower had practically driven her insane. And he knew she retreated to his space because he was the only Titan who had learned how to leave her alone.

Not even Robin had quite mastered that skill.

So he didn't say anything when she floated in through the ceiling and took a seat on one of his many toolboxes. He just continued working on the newest addition to the T-Car.

If she wanted or need to talk, she would do so. She would talk of her own will, at her own pace, when _she_ wanted to.

And soon enough, she started to talk. The moments of silence, of relaxation, had readied her to get her feelings off her chest.

And after she'd purged herself of the anger and the tension, the two of them moved on to a lighter shade of conversation.

"...And BB's all worried, shouting 'Stop it' and then he winds up calling Robin a crazy monkey, and Robin says, 'No, YOU'RE the crazy monkey!' and BB gets all offended, and—"

Raven laughed. "And he said that monkeys everywhere resented that comment, right?"

"Nope." Cyborg wiped a tears of laughter from his organic eye, smiling. "He said that monkeys everywhere _resembled_ that comment."

They both laughed uproariously at that, and Cyborg discovered why you didn't play with hammers while telling jokes. Quickly, before Raven could see it, he pressed his metal hand against his organic one, applying pressure to the offended knuckle.

While he had no real feeling in his metal hand, the way his skin gave way under his finger and the pain informed him that he hadn't seriously hurt himself. His knuckle would be tender for a few days, but he'd done himself no further damage.

Raven looked up at him, saw the way he was holding his hand, and stood.

He gave her his best goofy "I'm an idiot sometimes" grin, but she wasn't buying it. She placed her hand over his, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she removed her hand, the bruise on his own had gone.

Her hand snaked back inside her cloak, but she couldn't move it fast enough. He grabbed her wrist, held it firm.

The bruise he'd suffered looked worse on her pale, pale skin that it had on his.


	10. III: Wrench

**III: Wrench**

The wrench came flying out of nowhere. No, really! It did! Would I lie to YOU? I wouldn't lie to YOU. Promise. Get it?— got-it— good.

Okay, so maybe the wrench came from somewhere other than nowhere. Maybe it came from Her. Her. I really can't stand Her. She makes me so ANGRY sometimes. I mean, why does she have to treat me the way that she does?

Wait a minute. I didn't start out this conversation about Her, did I? What was I talking about again? Oh yeah. The wrench. It came flying out of nowhere. You do believe me, right? You know I can't lie to YOU, I know you know, you know I know, and this about to descend into one of those Middle School tongue-twister arguments.

But the wrench really DID come out of nowhere. No matter what Cyborg says.

Why would Cyborg know? Well, I was with him. Beast Boy and I hadn't exactly had a fight, but. . . Well. . . BB's great and all, but sometimes, you just can't spend your whole day with one person, you know?

Anyway, I was talking about the wrench. You'll have to forgive me. I'm writing this from the ward. Apparently, the wrench hit me hard enough to give me a concussion. I'm a bit scatterbrained as a result.

I know I had something to tell you, but right now, the only thing that's sticking in my brain is the look of confusion that came over Her face when I asked why She'd hit me with the wrench. She acted innocent, as if She didn't do it.

I know She did. She hates me. She's suspicious of me. She's right, but you know, they're the good guys. It wouldn't kill them to give people the benefit of the doubt. Believing the best in people is what they do, isn't it? And it's just not fair that She trusts the rest of them (and they're all far more annoying and rambunctious than I am, let's face it), but She doesn't trust me.

I know, I know. Life isn't fair. But that's not the point. The point is that they don't have to treat me like I'm going to go off and betray them again at the drop of a hat.

Not that I'm not already betraying them. But still! It's just not fair. You know, they give me everything I want. Basically, they spoil me pink. And it's not that it isn't enough. It's probably too much, being honest.

It's just that suddenly, having everything I wanted, being treated like a princess, is everything I _don't\ want. Because they're doing it because they're afraid of me. Well, not afraid of me, but afraid for me. But they're doing it because they don't want me to run back to you._

Not that I haven't already, but. . .

Well. I don't know anymore. I mean, they're all being so nice to me. Except for Her, but they say that that's just Her way. And all this niceness is making me feel bad. Because they're right. I am going to betray them. I don't deserve the things they're doing for me. And I take them anyway.

Is that the mark of a bad person? To take everything you don't deserve, knowing you don't deserve it?

If you can dig a decent report out of this, I refuse to be amazed. We understand each other, you and I. I'm sure you see what I mean.

What I'm not sure of is if I do.


	11. II: Homesickness

**II:Homesickness**

Robin sat in the living room, staring out the window at the way his least favorite thing drizzled down from the sky.

That was the worst part of living on the west coast. The drizzly, foggy, smoggy days outnumbered the clear. Sure, it got hot. Hot and oppressively muggy. And full of bugs.

He missed Gotham. Gotham's nights were dark, and briskly cool, even in summer. Gotham's skyline, you could navigate with jump lines. You didn't need to ride up buildings and walls on a motorcycle, fun as that was.

In Gotham, all he needed was his superhero name.

_Robin._

It made criminals stop in their tracks, the tears of terror that wended down their faces gray and hollow as the rain that fell on Jump City.

In Gotham, he had power. His skills, in Gotham, actually went to use.

There were times, like right now, that he felt useless in Jump City. It wasn't that it wasn't a nice enough place. Jump City was nice enough. In fact, it was too nice. Aside from Slade, the worst Jump City really had was Killer Moth (who wasn't that much of a challenge, anyway). The police could handle Killer Moth. The police could handle just about every criminal in this tiny city.

Gotham had too many criminals for the police. Gotham had criminals who actually posed a threat. Gotham had _challenges_.

There were times, reckless times, hopeless times, times where he missed his second father so damn _much_, that he considered leaving the Titans in much the same way Cyborg had.


	12. I: The Joys of Flight and Fight

**I: The Joys of Flight and Fight**

She loves to fly. Flight is easy. It requires joy. Joy? She has plenty. But learning to fly _and_ to throw starbolts _at the same time_ is quite another thing. How do you maintain joy while cultivating righteous rage?

There is nothing on earth that can compare to the way those green bolts leave her hands, her eyes. . . The joy of flight is but a part of the elation she feels when she flings her second-favorite talent through the air.

It feels as if her blood is bubbling, like mustard boiling over. It is like to the orgasms she has experienced with Robin, except fiercer. Better.

Flinging death from her hands brings her back to life. It is an exquisite irony, that only the fire from her palms can quench the flames in her gut. She does not enjoy fighting until she throws starbolts.

How do you fly— _the elation of the heights_— and fight— _the righteous rage of blood_— at the same time?

Simple. You learn to love the wrath. Love the wrath. _Love it._

She does not love to fight until she is airborne and throwing starbolts around as if they're the _gehorshag_ pearls strung on the Bridal Necklace of Disassembly, tossed about to waiting women, to see who will wed next.

And then that vicious, savage joy rolls over her the way the waves roll onto the beach. She has to grit her teeth to keep from screaming that sweet and bitter combination of wrath and joy. It really _is_ like orgasm.

And it really _is_ better than orgasm.

She loves to fly. Flight is easy.


End file.
